


The Ambush

by Shamione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bathroom Sex, Choking, Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, F/M, Fights, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Good Draco Malfoy, Height Differences, Mirror Sex, Multiple Pairings, POV Hermione Granger, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione
Summary: Another year, another Festivus party. But this year, Hermione desperately wished not to attend. All because of a pompous, pale, blondeprickand the image of him kissing another woman playing on repeat on the front of the Daily Prophet. But what happens when he shows up with an explanation that's hard to ignore?
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 36
Kudos: 396
Collections: Completed/Downloaded/Read Works, Dirty Festivus 2020





	The Ambush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolitaweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitaweasley/gifts).



> Written for [lolitaweasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitaweasley/pseuds/lolitaweasley/works) in the wonderful Dirty Festivus fest hosted by [TriDogMom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDogMom/pseuds/TriDogMom)!
> 
> I truly hope you like it. This is the first time I've witten any smut with a daddy kink, so I really hope I did okay! I also created a rather naughty gif, which is a longer version of the main one at the top. It's at the bottom of the story - enjoy ;).
> 
> Thank you to [Charlie9646](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie9646/pseuds/Charlie9646) for looking over this as an alpha!

Hermione scowled, pacing before her hearth like a lion trapped in a suffocating cage. She'd been expected at the Weasley's over thirty minutes ago, but the nerves thrusting her feet into a frantic stride also stalled her departure.

She'd declared the moment the invitation had drifted through her Floo that she wouldn't be in attendance at Pansy's annual Festivus party, regardless of if it were the sole thing destined to keep her alive. Despite how many times Harry and Ginny had urged her to reconsider - which had been endless - her refusal remained steadfast. She'd given excuse after excuse: she had to visit her parents, work couldn't wait, she had to wash her hair.

But, frankly, it was because _he'd_ be there. Of course, he would. Pansy was his best mate. He'd even grown receptive of Ronald after the redhead had proposed.

So, _of course_ , Draco bloody Malfoy would be at Pansy's party.

Thus, every fiber of Hermione's being told her that she shouldn't go. Even as she paced, fully outfitted in a comfortable red sweater and black skirt, her body begged her not to leave the sanctity of her home. Especially not after the desolation of her heart six months prior.

It had been a blissful June morning of sipping a steaming cup of tea, nestled under a blanket reading on his couch while he and Scorpius slept. An absolute delight, that is, until his eagle owl arrived with the Daily Prophet in her claws. Hermione's heart had shattered to the sound of the teacup plummeting to the floor, hands trembling as she watched the headline image - an exceptionally well-photographed scene of a youthful, beautiful, proper, blonde _slag_ pushing onto her toes to kiss Draco on the lips - loop endlessly.

She'd abandoned all the belongings she'd brought and tearfully dashed through his Floo as everything between them melted like ice over a flame.

That had been three years after their first tryst, a tangled mass of limbs and drunken kisses in Pansy's guest room, mere days after she'd split with Roger Davies. She and Draco had been friends for a few years before that evening, both merely existing in what they'd believed were committed relationships. Until Roger had sought the bed of a co-worker and Astoria had vanished into the night, Portkeying to America and leaving behind only a three-sentence note in their newborn son's crib.

It had been a sloppy, stupid, yet purely tantalizing night, emotions hovering ambiguously between lust, longing, and loneliness. They'd kissed sweeter than Hermione had expected, but she'd thoroughly welcomed the tenderness and attention. The desire that had laced every word he'd whispered and the assurance his arms had offered as they'd fallen asleep.

The following morning, both acknowledged that what had transpired had been a mistake. They'd simply sought comfort in the company of misery and eagerly found it. However, after the second time they ended the night intertwined together, both admitted they'd liked it, craved it. After the third time, they'd agreed - no strings. Casual. Just two souls alleviating the hardships of life nestled into one another's arms.

Their time together had begun as infrequent, clandestine meetings whenever their friends would glance away. But then Paris happened. Hermione had been on holiday alone and unexpectedly collided with Draco at an outdoor market. What followed had been a blissful week of just them. Of just him. Of lavish meals and snuggling before a fire as he read Austen aloud, raking his fingers lovingly through her hair. A radiant week of kisses overlooking the Eiffel Tower from his posh hotel's balcony and trips out of the city's center to tour wineries in the countryside.

She knew it was that surreptitious week together that had transformed what was between them into something concrete. That had made the invisible force continuously luring them together tangible.

After, they'd sought each other out more frequently. Hermione had been the one to haul him into Headmaster McGonagall's former office to shag atop the desk during the annual Commemoration Ball. Draco had dragged her into a cupboard at the Ministry for a fleeting yet fervent snog. And they'd both willingly fallen into one another's beds after drinks at the pub with friends, only to spend the whole weekend locked together in their flats.

Their secret moments had been safe, fun, and thoroughly romantic. However, Hermione had found it harder to leave him after each shared night. More challenging to kiss him goodbye as he held her close, forehead pressed lovingly against hers. Tougher to act as though no feelings drifted between them during meetings and in the Ministry's halls. Harder to watch him leave every Sunday evening and pretend as though he wasn't what made her sun rise and her moon full.

Harder to hold in the fact she loved him - all of him - desperately.

Increasingly difficult until it had become unendurable. Until six months ago, when a single photograph had burst Hermione's heart into more pieces than she ever thought imaginable.

So, _yeah_. Hermione didn't fancy going to Ronald and Pansy's because _he'd_ be there.

But evidently, Harry had disregarded her pleas of solitude. He'd burst through the Floo like a whirlwind two hours ago, hauling her thin frame from the couch with an effortless tug, shoving her into the shower. Though, Hermione had to begrudgingly admit that his diatribe as he all but dressed her had been wholly eye-opening. Uplifting and inspiring, yet also embarrassing.

He'd been the sole person that had known of her and Draco's relationship. He'd discovered them by happenstance earlier this year, bursting in on her in an incredibly naughty position under Draco's desk at the DMLE. Moreover, his had been the only shoulder onto which she could cry after her heart had shattered.

Though, after six months of sorrow, it appeared his sympathy had withered. Fervently, Harry had reminded her that she wasn't some timid little witch that hid from an ex. Wasn't a woman that let a broken heart encompass her entire being and allow it to keep her on the couch. Lovingly, of course, but firmly, he'd stated that she was, in fact, Hermione Jean _Fucking_ Granger, the brightest witch of her age. The brilliant, ball-busting, head-strong, intelligent third of the golden trio - the Golden Girl. The youngest Head Unspeakable in history.

And Draco Malfoy was just a pompous, pale, blonde _prick_!

Replaying his words in her mind, Hermione stretched her spine straight, inhaled a stabilizing breath, and welcomed the green warmth up her frame as she cast down a handful of Floo powder. Happy smiles overfilled the sitting room as appeared in the cozy Weasley home. And just as she'd anticipated, dinner was clearing itself from the table. Thank Merlin for Pansy's rigid timetables.

It appeared the ever-expanding celebration had grown yet again. Two newcomers - Hannah Abbott and Parvati Patil - were the first to greet her. They rounded out a somewhat unconventional group of friends. Greg and Millie Goyle stood by the second fireplace looking more than pleased to be away from their newborn triplets for the evening. Fred and George Weasley hovered over Blaise Zabini's shoulders, blatantly bickering over a slip of parchment that Hermione knew held at least ten hastily scribbled bets. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were standing by the bar cart, pouring a round of shots for everyone, much to no one's surprise.

And Harry, a grin overwhelming his expression as his eyes landed upon her, standing next to the love of his life Theodore Nott - undoubtedly the most amusing man that Hermione had ever met. He reminded the curly-haired witch considerably of her father. Cool, calm, with a deliberate quip that was as sharp as it was timely. The most admirable part of him, though, was how dearly he loved Harry and their sons.

Plus, much to Hermione's delight, Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

"'Mione!" Harry beamed a bit drunkenly as he lifted his firewhiskey in a toast to her arrival.

"Oh, great! So nice of you to join us _after_ the meal I prepared for you," Pansy sassed, but the broad grin she wore as she crossed the room and drew Hermione into a hug sang a softer tune.

"Sorry, Pans. I got caught up."

"With a book, no doubt," Pansy chuckled. "But no matter. You're right on time for grievances!"

Hermione groaned, as did most of the room, but their despondency only seemed to fuel Pansy's resolve. Whoever had let her watch reruns of an American television show deserved a swift kick in the shin. Because for the next three to ten hours, the ordinarily cheery group of mates would sit locked in awkward grimaces, loud arguments, and, at minimum, one person in tears at all times.

"Come on, then. Come on!" Pansy sang with a cheery smile, ushering everyone toward the second fireplace.

"Shots first!"

"We're going to need them," Theo chuckled behind Ginny's demand.

Everyone snickered, accepting the tumblers Ginny and Luna dispersed, cozying together before the roaring second fireplace. Hermione prepared herself a second drink before nestling against the couch's arm. Pansy sank onto the cushion beside her and scooted in tight, making room for Ron and Blaise. Harry and Theo perched on an armchair, the Goyle's filling the other as everyone else dropped to the floor before the hearth.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed, slinging his arm around Pansy's shoulder. "A toast to all you tossers. Couldn't imagine how awful life would be if you all buggered off!"

"Eloquently put Ronald," Pansy mocked with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

But everyone laughed, throwing back their shots with cheerful smiles and grimaces at the burn. Pansy slammed her tumbler onto the table with a radiant grin. "I'll start!"

"No! Salazar's dick, please, no," Blaise begged to a chorus of snickers. "We'll be here all night. Weasel, you start."

So, he did. Though, Ron managed only half an airing to Goyle about speaking during a Cannons match before a green hue tinted the room. The unmistakable sound of fire roaring to life made Hermione's heart sink into her stomach. Pansy's squeal of excitement and everyone's merry greetings affirmed what Hermione already knew.

Draco Malfoy had just stepped through the Floo.

A thick lump formed in her throat as Harry's attentive gaze flitted to hers. She gasped to suppress the tears threatening to fall, concealed by Pansy's merriment as the raven-haired witch vaulted from the couch. Hermione nodded softly to her best mate, but it was evident by the apprehension etched on his expression that he didn't believe her. It was challenging, but she slathered on a superficial smile and stared intently at her glass of whiskey as everyone welcomed the one wizard she didn't wish to see.

"I knew you'd come!" Pansy sang.

"Ha! So did I!" Blaise chortled gleefully, donning a sly smirk that made George both grimace and blush. The Italian thrust out his hand with a brilliant grin. "Pay up, Tweedledee."

"Scorpius refused sleep tonight. I wasn't going to come, but Mother forced me through the Floo."

"Then you owe her a debt of gratitude," Pansy chuckled. "Come on! We've only just started grievances. You can have my seat, and I'll sit on Ron's lap."

"Joy."

Hermione didn't need to glance up to know he was right before her; she could feel him. Nevertheless, she did, and the revolting pulse of happiness as her sights traced up his towering frame, locking with his ardent gaze, made an even more unfathomable abyss of wrath and wretchedness swell in her gut.

Merlin - did he always have to look so stunning? No, stunning wasn't the word. Effortless? Elegant? Sumptuous? Extraordinary? Dammed the old gods and the new, any phrase that one could use to describe a man of his caliber, he was _it_.

Even if he was the king arsehole of all arseholes.

He wore a modest pair of dark, worn jeans and a simple long sleeve shirt, the cuffs of which sat folded up to expose the tattoos underneath. Delicate narcissus flowers decorated one forearm's expanse, the opposite adorned with a glittering, starry night sky - his and Scorpius' constellations the prominent feature.

Although Hermione could see the tiredness painted under his eyes, he still exuded utter elegance. Scruff lined his sharp jaw, a trait he kept solely for her liking. His hair was perfectly coiffed, as it always was, long and pushed back on top with a shorter length on the sides, as soft as any locks could be. And the smile that spanned his features as he studied her made him appear radiant in the firelight. Radiant, but his presence still tore a broader rift through Hermione's soul.

Pansy urged him onto the couch beside Hermione, which he seemed to savor. His grin slowly shifted to a cocky, arseish smirk as he sat. Hermione refused to glance his way, but that only appeared to entice him further. Draco stirred, settling further into the couch as he rested an arm on the sofa behind Hermione's head. Gradually, his legs spread until their thighs were left pressed firmly together.

Hermione had to check her breath to quell the flutters that his warmth ignited deep within her heart. His fingers twirled nonchalantly, no doubt purposefully, fiddling with the curls near the base of her neck. Gooseflesh rippled across her arms, and she wanted to scream.

"Your turn, Hermione," Pansy demanded.

"Oh. No, no..." Hermione stammered, shaking her head and sitting slightly forward out of his reach. "I don't have anything. You know I -"

"Oh, bullshit," Pansy giggled gleefully. "I know you have at least one that you've yet to air! This one," she called, pointing a thumb at the side of Ron's face, "set you up with that sleazeball McLaggen!"

"Hey - he's an alright bloke!"

Ginny nearly choked on her drink, coughing as she laughed. "He's horrid, Ron! Just because you both like the Cannons doesn't mean he's a good guy."

"And," Goyle continued, "liking the Cannons makes you both total rubbish."

Hermione joined the group's laughter, offering, "That scenario was truly my fault, anyway. I should have known Ron's taste in men would be putrid."

"Hey!" Ron fumed, face crimsoning further the longer everyone chuckled.

"Don't be sad we don't like your little friend, Ronniekins."

"If 'Mione's got nothing, let's move on," Ron glowered.

"I don't have anything. I'm just happy to have you all."

Draco huffed, a condescending, exasperated sound, as Ron's voice filled the room with grievances. He bounced his eyebrows in non-belief, shaking his head as he pulled a tumbler of whiskey to his smirking lips. Hermione ached to sock him in the nose again, to knock the self-important expression off his face. Arrogant arse.

As if he had anything about which to be exasperated! Who did he think he was? He had cheated on her! He'd kissed another woman mere minutes before what should have been the most meaningful moment of their relationship.

Anger swelled in Hermione's gut as the grievances continued, and by the time Hannah and Padma were in tears, the sensation was entirely overwhelming. Standing abruptly, she murmured about the loo and slowly shimmied around him to her momentary escape. His arrogant expression as their eyes met undulated another surge of resentment down her spine. In a split second decision, Hermione brought her foot down vigorously upon the toe of his shoes.

He didn't make a sound, though his expression twitched with hidden fury. It was childish but did make Hermione feel a smidge better as she made for the hallway bathroom, fingers taut with bitterness and melancholy. Gods, she never should have come here tonight; should have remained home in the comfort and silence of her sitting room. She could feel herself on the cusp of frustrated tears as she rounded the corner and pushed open the bathroom door.

A heavy hand plunged to her back just as the door snapped open, but it didn't startle her. No, Draco assumed he was smooth, quiet. But she'd felt his aura caressing hers from the moment he'd stood to trail her.

Determinedly, he thrust her in, and Hermione took two broad steps toward the opposite side of the tiny loo, spinning as the door banged shut. The lock bolted in place as Draco casually leaned against the door, one foot rising to rest against the wood, arms crossing over his chest. But what made ferocity crackle at the tips of Hermione's curls was the cocky, arseish, mocking smirk that lingered on his face as his eyes studied her figure.

"Granger -"

"What are you doing in here, Malfoy?" Hermione hissed. "Get out."

"No," Draco growled low, and she attempted not to let the shiver of her spine show. "You've been avoiding me."

"I have not. Don't flatter yourself," Hermione scoffed, mockingly lacing her arms over her chest to imitate his stance.

"Then, all of my owls returning unread were simply mistakes?"

"Are you sure you even sent them to the _right woman_?"

Draco's face stiffened further, nostrils flaring as he drove off the door. "Your abrupt switch of projects at work?"

"Robards assigned me to a new case. It happens. _You_ chose to switch after my reassignment."

"Bull shit."

"Believe whatever you want, git."

He stepped deliberately toward her, fierceness on his frame. "You're rather tense, Granger. I thought you said you have no grievances to air?"

"I _don't_ ," she snapped, taking a step backward into the firmness of a wall. "I'm merely trying to use the loo. So if you'd -"

"I can see you do, you minx. I can see it dancing on the tip of your tongue."

He took another step forward, nearly caging her in, but Hermione bent low, shuffling under his lifted arm toward the sink. "You're mad. Leave!"

"Say it."

"I have no grievances, Malfoy. Just leave!"

"Liar," he stated smoothly, though it was laced with impatience.

"Fine!" Hermione roared, whirling back toward him with ardor in her eyes. "Fine - do you truly want to hear it? I do have a grievance! With you! And that dirty, slaggy bimbo you snogged after what I hope was a horrid date!"

"Date is a loose term."

"You're caught up over semantics?!" She seethed, temper erupting in every word, tears now overflowing. "You came to me that night! After being on a _romantic engagement_ and snogging another woman, you came to me and told me you love me! You took me to meet Scorpius for the first time, for gods' sake! I saw that fucking picture the next morning! Gods, Draco, do you even care how terribly you broke my heart?! Just get out! _Get. Out!"_

Anger, or perhaps frustration, blazed over his semi-composed expression as he took a single step toward her. "Of course, I care! I was not on a date! I would never do that to you, Granger. I love you!"

"Liar! Get _out_!"

"No!" he bellowed, making Hermione wince, attempting to sustain her stubborn expression as he took another step forward. "I refuse to leave until you bloody listen -"

"Listen to what? How you've been fucking another woman?"

"I didn't go on a date," he growled. "And I definitely didn't fuck that bint! It was an _ambush_!"

"Oh, brilliant! An ambush?! Do you think I'm -"

"Yes, an ambush!" he roared, drawing out the last word as he stepped entirely into her, caging her against the marble sink. She attempted to shove him off, driving her hands roughly against his chest. But Draco effortlessly enveloped both of her thin wrists into a single hand, holding them against his chest.

Gods, she'd forgotten how unbelievably tall he was, craning her neck to maintain unwavering eye contact. Forgotten just how tantalizing his rough, rugged Auror fingers were as they brushed upon her smooth skin. Her mouth fell open in retort, but his free hand moved briskly, placing two fingers against her lips to hold them closed. His thumb ghosted along her jaw, and she wasn't sure if her quivering breath was because of his tenderness or the tears she couldn't quell.

"That picture didn't show me shoving her off and leaving her standing alone, or how utterly appalled I had been with her level of intellect. Mother believed it was high time I began dating again, so she conned me into an ambush. She was, and I quote, 'irritated by watching my pine after a slag who took her galleons and ran.'"

A wave of unmitigated resentment undulated in Hermione's gut, causing her to jerk her head sideways. She tried to force him away anew, but he simply slid a hand around the back of her neck, thrusting his fingers into her hair to cup her head. Commanding yet delicate, just like she always preferred him.

"I wasn't pining over Astoria, Granger," he asserted plainly, face holding an imploring expression that made it hard to keep her anger. "I was pining after _you_. You! Because _you_ didn't want our relationship public."

"But -"

"Have you seen me on the front page with another woman since?"

"That proves nothing..."

"No?" he snarled, fingers tightening tantalizingly in her curls. "Then what of me traveling with you and your friends on holiday even though you wouldn't speak to me? And bringing you books and coffee every Thursday? Or sack lunches on Wednesdays because you regularly work through?"

Hermione's lips wiggled below his fingers, venturing a rambled response. But his lips replacing the warmth of his digits held obvious intent. It wasn't rough, but it was clear - he wasn't finished speaking. He didn't kiss her for long, drawing back to hover close to her lips.

"You claimed no grievances this year, but let me tell you mine.

I've held my tongue for so long, even sat silent after you appeared beside _McLaggen_ at the Ministry Ball. Believe me that it was difficult to not strangling him for touching what was mine."

His firm grasp released her wrists, hands gliding low about her waist to pull her impossibly closer. The familiar warmth of his lips as they peppered searing kisses down her jaw was like magic come to life. Gods, even simple, murmured words from his lips felt domineering. He had an absolute aura of authority that had drawn her from the start. That now made her hands fist within his shirt.

"I've had to fuck myself one too many times to the thought of you in that tiny, gods-forsaken bathing suit from Italy," he whispered, a hand circled to clutch her arse. "To the thought of our skin pressed together in the sea and the irresistible way your lips coiled around the straw of those frozen drinks."

Hermione remembered the August trip all too well and had fucked herself more times than she could count to the memories of the warm Italian water trickling down his rough, scared chest. To the thought of his smile as he and Blaise bested Harry and Ron in a game of beach volleyball. To the firm feel of his body against hers before she'd shoved him away with a scowl.

"Do you know how difficult it was to sit beside you in every meeting, watching you bite your lip as you concocted just the right scathing yet factually accurate retort to every word Robards spoke? How arduous it was to watch you step on every wizard, witch, and creature that stood in the way of what you wanted without being able to tell you how truly amazing you are?"

Hermione smirked at that, the fire of his pleased grin dancing against her senses. He spun her suddenly, one hand smoothly brushing the curls over one shoulder as the second drew her back into him. He was utterly engulfing, his bulky figure towering over her, offering security she hadn't realized she'd missed. A heat that was wholly consuming.

Draco leaned into her, arms firm about her middle as he nuzzled his face into her neck.

"Vous l'avez porté."

_You wore it._

Words purred upon her neck with a shuddering inhale so profound it made her cunt drip instantly. She had worn it - the perfume that had appeared on her nightstand two days after their unexpected fling in Paris. She wasn't a perfume girl - never bothered with scents or makeup. But the way his face had turned thoroughly lascivious when she'd tried it on had made her feel beautiful, powerful.

She'd worn it tonight on the possibility he'd appear. To make him miss her. To make him envious. But she hadn't anticipated his large hands drifting along her waist or splaying across her stomach to draw her further into him.

"We can't…"

"We can." Not a statement, but a command, demanding yet imploring. "I know you want this. I can see it every time you look at me - the _craving_."

Draco's eyes were utterly desperate, unmitigated desire crashing over his irises in thick, black waves. Languidly, his hand slid up Hermione's curvaceous frame, fingers ghosting along her neck like a soft kiss of craving. The delicate caress of his finger across her lips made her body vibrate with urgency, lips parting his a soft gasp.

"I cannot verbalize how sorry I am that I hurt you. I've missed you, Hermione. I've missed my good girl."

_Good_ girl.

_His_ good girl.

How she thought being separated from him was a sound idea, she couldn't remember. All she could recall now was the warmth of his lips as they smoothed behind her ear - tender yet tantalizing. The safety she felt enclosed in his arms - dependable yet dangerous. The excitement deep in her core as his hand trailed down her body to deliberately ruck up her skirt - permissive yet possessive.

"Say it. Beg for me."

The hairs on her neck lifted with the pure electricity of his purr. So delicate yet so thoroughly pleasing.

"Please, _daddy_."

The sheer force of his fingers closing against her trachea lit her soul aflame. Merlin, she'd missed him. This. Missed the passion in his eyes as his free hand dipped below her knickers, swiping a deliberate, tantalizing finger through her slickened folds, resting upon her clit but putting no movement. No pressure. Making a stifled simper of need tumble past her lips as his throaty chuckle skittered across her skin.

"Granger, you need to stay quiet. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl take me without a sound? Without so much as a whimper?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, daddy," Hermione whined with an impassioned, strangled shudder. "Please. Please fuck me."

Tenderly, he moved, smoothing soft circles around a clit he'd explored so many times before.

His fingers waved upon her like ripples on a lake, gently yet purposefully urging wide her lower lips. Hermione gasped, willingly spreading her legs wider to allow him access. He grinned in the mirror as he pulsed pressure around her neck, making her already eager slit gush. It was quick, the curling of his fingers inside of her as he seized her pussy like a man possessed.

His whole arm pulsed, palm slapping into the wetness of her womanhood as she tried to hold in her pleasure-filled moans. As spine-tingling tides of delight waved up and down her body, crashing against her clit as his thumb rolled it.

"Good girl. Do you like my fingers? You like it when I touch you, don't you? You like when I take what's _mine_ ," he purred.

Gods, she craved to cry out and tell him precisely how his fingers felt - like dancing barefoot in a soft summer rain with the person you loved the most. To affirm exactly what was his. But she could only nod fervently against the fingers around her throat, making another lust-filled smirk spread over his ardent features.

"Have I told you how perfect your pussy is, beautiful? How many times I've fantasized about your sweet, delicious taste?"

He worked her body like he knew her. Like he'd studied her relentlessly and mastered every one of her curves. Drawing in and out, brushing heavy, enthralling circles on her clit before thrusting deeper back into her slit. Hooking his long fingers just so, caressing the delightful spot that eternally opened her soul to heavenly rapture.

"Good girl. Let go. Come for me."

An explosion of indescribable bliss radiated through her as his fingers fucked her eagerly. Deep waves of pleasure shattered behind her navel, a soundless scream of his name reverberating in the walls of her mind as her mouth fell open with soft, nearly silent whimpers. As her fingers clutched at the marble skin, legs shaking as she thrust onto her toes, thumping her hips to fuck his fingers through her mindbending orgasm.

Her legs trembled as his fingers left her vacant, nearly buckling under the weight of her now boneless figure. But his hands shifted around her waist, lifting her feet gently from the floor as a small, wide footrest appeared beneath them.

A device they'd started using when he fucked her from behind because he knew she favored stability, and she knew his hands lived to roam her body. To feel the racing of her heart against his palm as he clutched her neck. The hardness of her nipples as he palmed them. He relished her beg when his fingers twirled her clit while he fucked her. None of which was feasible with their misaligned yet perfectly paired statures.

He wasted only a moment after her feet met the wooden footstool before unfastening her skirt and letting it pool to the floor. The desire in his eyes was genuinely intoxicating as his fingers hooked in the band of her knickers and hauled them down, leaving her entirely exposed and thoroughly eager.

"Fuck, I have missed this," he growled heatedly, eyes glued to her slit through the mirror. "Do you think you deserve me, Granger? For refusing me?"

Her voice vibrated with absolute need, "I -"

"Are you supposed to speak?" He scolded, drawing back her hips coarsely and grinding his pelvis against her arse.

Hermione had to stifle the moans that threatened to tear from her throat, shaking her head. Their eyes locked through the mirror, brown irises imploring grey to let her feel him again. Draco's tongue languidly wet his lips before he rolled them together, pulling the bottom one between his teeth as he leaned forward. His broad chest nestled against hers, gently lowering her toward the counter as a single, persuasive hand spread her legs farther apart.

"I think you do," he murmured, peppering kisses along the back of her neck. "It's me who doesn't deserve you."

The rigid feeling of his cock as it sprang free and spanked against her bare arse was like a bolt of lightning on dry grass, a spark that made her world alight with the flames of passion. And the relief that washed over his features as he drew back, pushing forward to let his thick manhood slide between her folds, made her fingers clutch the counter in awe.

He coated himself only twice, sliding gingerly through her folds, before swiping his tip along her slit and burying himself deep inside her slit. He wasn't gentle, the desperate clutch on her hip almost painful as he began to thrust. Intensely. Frantically.

Yet somehow still so passionate.

Hermione couldn't think beyond the feel of him and the fingers that fisted her curls, tugging her head back. Nothing mattered beyond the urgent pressure of his lips on hers and the pure satisfaction of their tongues dancing. The words that he whispered as his hips snapped into her unrelenting were like prays onto which she clung. And the fingers that slipped around her body to tease her clit were like blessings from the gods.

"Fuck, Hermione, you feel amazing. So bloody amazing."

Fuck, did he know how to move - slowly yet so intensely. Sheathing himself over and over effortlessly. Their bodies moved in a tantalizing tandem, skin kissing with each deliberate thrust.

Trembling, her hand slapped against the mirror. When her mouth fell open in a silent scream, Draco's fingers slipped in. Happily, she closed her lips around them, and his carnal groans filled the room as she sucked hungrily.

Lascivious slapping of skin saturated the air, lewd noises of her want and his filling the near silence of her panted pleasure. Vibrations of rapture radiated from deep within her core, making her body quake. And nearly all of her senses ceased to function, becoming overrun with unmitigated ecstasy as her budding release thumped impatiently behind her clit.

Draco grinned in the mirror, pulling his fingers from her mouth to cup her jaw and draw it softly upward. His hips movement didn't halt as he leaned forward and growled in her ear.

"Scream for me."

"Gods, Draco, yes! Yes!"

It was sudden, like a black hole imploding, a force so cosmic it was unimaginable. A thick cry ecstasy overfill the tiny loo as Hermione screamed out in bliss, crying his name like a mantra, not caring in the least if anyone heard. He followed quickly, a moan trailing three delicate thrusts before his movements stilled, cock twitching as he spilled himself inside her.

Lips, fingers, and hips steadily stalled their movements, Draco's thickness leaving her on a panted exhale. He chuckled at the satisfied grin on her lips in the mirror, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and drawing her boneless body back into his. Lovingly, he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, a soft kiss of a whispered cleansing charm ghosting over her center.

"Come home with me?" he whispered. "I want to talk probably about what happened. I cannot go a day more without you, Granger. I refuse."

"...Okay."

"Oi!" Ron's voice cared through the door, followed by two loud bangs. "You two done in there? Some of us have to piss!"

"All yours, Weasel-bee," Draco called with a grin, grabbing Hermione's skirt from the floor before wrapped his arms around her middle, unlocking the door, and Apparating them away.


End file.
